


Permissum Mihi

by Demibel



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Friendship, I just had some feelings, mostly headcanon, pretty fluffy too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demibel/pseuds/Demibel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took weeks for the jagged cuts on his scalp to heal. Every time he saw his reflection in the cool water of the river, every time he ran a hand over his head, he felt them. Rough, ugly scabs covered by the short stubble of growing hair where his distinguished tonsure once was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permissum Mihi

**Author's Note:**

> Set after episode three, or thereabouts. Title means "Let me" in latin, according to Googe translate

It took weeks for the jagged cuts on his scalp to heal. Every time he saw his reflection in the cool water of the river, every time he ran a hand over his head, he felt them. Rough, ugly scabs covered by the short stubble of growing hair where his distinguished tonsure once was.

Athelstan tried not to let it bother him. He was meant to be a slave among these heathens. To act as they did, to dress as they did, to look closer to a citizen than a follower of Christ. Though, every time he felt those cuts, and those short, prickly hairs, he felt a twinge of regret and sadness. He missed it. And he hated it. He hated his weakness. God could still see him, even without the distinguishing mark of his tonsure, there was no need to miss it.

But every so often, he would pick up the knife once more, and stand over the water bowl, just to see if he could. These nights often ended in another cut, and an uneven haircut. After a few tries, he finally gave up, just as he had with wearing his robes. 

One evening though, Lagertha was watching him. She wore her same stone-faced expression, cinched brow and a slight downturn of her lips as she watched the former monk wash his face and rub at the new hair.

In an instant she was behind him, reaching for the knife. “Stay still.” He froze, expecting it to come up to his neck. He started to pray quietly. If this was the end, he would face it with his Lord’s name upon his lips. 

Instead, she made to tilt his head up, and wiped a wet cloth across his head. “You must tell me if I hurt you.” She said quickly, and she began to run the knife across the patch of new hair, shaving it with greater ease.

He blinked, in shock that she would even offer to do something like this for him, but after a few moments, he relaxed, sighing contently. “Thank you.” He murmured as she washed the knife and brought it to his scalp again.

“I used to do this for my father.” He couldn’t see her, but he could tell she wore a small smile from the sound of her voice. “He slept too close to a flame when he was drunk, and his hair was burnt. Instead of waiting for it to grow, he had me cut it all off.” Lagertha was not one to talk mush to the slave, but it would happen once in a while, where they would have bursts of conversation.

He chuckled at the image and relaxed as he felt his hair thin. “You don’t have to again.” He added softly. 

“Just this once, then.” She responded, placing the knife down and wiping at his head. “It suits you. Both ways.” He turned to face her, a grateful smile shining on his face. She nodded in acknowledgement and stood to leave. “Goodnight priest.” And she went to join Ragnar in their bed.

“Goodnight Lagertha.” He murmured, running a hand over his now smooth tonsure. It felt familiar, but…it was no longer home. He had let Lagertha tend to him this once, it would not be needed a second time.


End file.
